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sbearbergman1. Mr. Weesauce is a late-to-bed, late-to-rise kind of a kid (we joke that he's on the disco schedule). Left to his own devices he goes to sleep at 10pm and wakes up at 9am, which makes it relatively easy to go to evening things with him if we want to as long as we make sure he's had plenty of dinner. But the thing I love is that sometimes when we get home late after being out all together we sit at the kitchen table and have a little snack all together before bed. Usually just a little something, milk and crackers and maybe some berries or other fruit. But there's something about the late snack that feels connected and peaceful and minorly transgressive by North American parenting standards, and I don't have to care if he eats one cracker and then wanders away and then comes back and eats a chunk of grapefruit, because it's not a meal and therefore no one has to enforce rules about meals (except for food staying at the table). We're all just ridiculously delighted with ourselves and each other, that's all. For no reason. Who cares? Have a popsicle.
2. I hosted one of the Pride Stages this weekend, Saturday evening and again on Sunday afternoon, and I enjoyed being able to say hello to friends and neighbours as they went by. This morning I ran into our neighbour Bob, a lovely older (late 60s) gay man who lives just above us with his equally lovely (and very flirtatious, in a nice way) partner Dick, who confessed that the friend with whom he was strolling Pride found it tremendously impressive that he had been greeted by name from one of the stages. I am also delighted by this, also for no reason.
3. My miraculously resourceful husband has secured for us the services of a student librarian for the summer, and this person is going to come and make order out of chaos in our various book collections. The librarian is pretty waxed about this because we have a lot of out-of-print and/or rare and/or first edition queer books, and we are equally waxed for what I assume are obvious reasons. It's nice to imagine order being imposed upon the current situation, which is rich but profoundly disorganized.The beginning of the culling is also taking place, as we let go of some items we can just as well own as ebooks for how often we want them, and the handling of pretty much every book in the mutual household library is also a great pleasure. Because, books.
3a. And some of what I have come across I didn't remember how much I loved, or who gave it to me, or where I was (physically or emotionally) when I first read it. There's an essay in my favorite book about books about this very phenomenon, and I am keen ro revisit it.
4. It's quiet and cool at home, and I have a husband-made iced maple latte. Even though I am still struggling to recover from Pride and all its attendant exertions (and running out of key meds before a statutory holiday; not my swiftest move ever) I'm still just pretty damn happy in a slightly overtaxed, swoony, early-train-home kind of way that I cherish for its bittersweetness. The too-bright light, the private smile at the memory of last night or the last few, the welcome burn or ache of an overused body, the ill-advised ice cream for breakfast because, at a certain point, why not?
2. I hosted one of the Pride Stages this weekend, Saturday evening and again on Sunday afternoon, and I enjoyed being able to say hello to friends and neighbours as they went by. This morning I ran into our neighbour Bob, a lovely older (late 60s) gay man who lives just above us with his equally lovely (and very flirtatious, in a nice way) partner Dick, who confessed that the friend with whom he was strolling Pride found it tremendously impressive that he had been greeted by name from one of the stages. I am also delighted by this, also for no reason.
3. My miraculously resourceful husband has secured for us the services of a student librarian for the summer, and this person is going to come and make order out of chaos in our various book collections. The librarian is pretty waxed about this because we have a lot of out-of-print and/or rare and/or first edition queer books, and we are equally waxed for what I assume are obvious reasons. It's nice to imagine order being imposed upon the current situation, which is rich but profoundly disorganized.The beginning of the culling is also taking place, as we let go of some items we can just as well own as ebooks for how often we want them, and the handling of pretty much every book in the mutual household library is also a great pleasure. Because, books.
3a. And some of what I have come across I didn't remember how much I loved, or who gave it to me, or where I was (physically or emotionally) when I first read it. There's an essay in my favorite book about books about this very phenomenon, and I am keen ro revisit it.
4. It's quiet and cool at home, and I have a husband-made iced maple latte. Even though I am still struggling to recover from Pride and all its attendant exertions (and running out of key meds before a statutory holiday; not my swiftest move ever) I'm still just pretty damn happy in a slightly overtaxed, swoony, early-train-home kind of way that I cherish for its bittersweetness. The too-bright light, the private smile at the memory of last night or the last few, the welcome burn or ache of an overused body, the ill-advised ice cream for breakfast because, at a certain point, why not?
